Forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much
by paceyourself
Summary: my first fic. Violet has a wee chat with Tate, set after the season finale. References to Violate, some mature content/language. Will upload the rest if people like it. Reviews would be lovely.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N there is a second part to this story. :) Please tell me if there's typos I missed.  
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"Violet would you like to decorate the mantel piece? You did a lovely job on the tree, even though you've never exactly been a fan of Christmas" Ben joked running a finger across what would feel like a cold dead cheek to a living person, but he wasn't and his daughter felt soft and warm.

"Can't take all the credit Dad, Moira helped a lot too" Violet smiled over at Moira who returned her own slight smile, her gammy eye sparkling in the crackling firelight. Sighing as she placed the final ornaments on the last few prickly pine smelling arms. She feels his eyes on her from the hall and is wondering why the fuck she feels bad for him. She shakes her head slightly as if to rid it of him.

"I'm going to bed, night." The three others in the room wished Violet a fair well. Violet retreated from the room as she watched her Mom and Dad coo over their new baby boy.

If this had been in Boston she probably would have been jealous, her parents had never paid much attention to her.

If this had been in Boston Violet would have barricaded herself in her room reading some pretentious novel with only the sounds of a screaming Kathleen Hanna to block out that damn Jingle Bell Rock.

As Violet entered the hall the wood floor was cold against the balls of her stocking clad feet.

He wasn't there anymore, she would have felt him, he was weak around her.

She ascended the creaky stairs of the murder house quickly.

But this house had changed her, a lot. Mentally and physically.

Violet had wondered if Einstein knew ghosts existed? That a house could have a gravitational force on its deceased inhabitants, feed on the trauma of all those living who entered, never to come out. She often thought of the house like a machine and the ghosts were the batteries, that was the best way to describe it she thought.

Way to fuck up general relativity.

Oddly she didn't feel happy she knew the secrets physicists wouldn't even dream of. Could she get out of this house? It wasn't likely she thought. The first time she tried to escape the house it wore her out and she wasn't going to try it again any time soon.

In this house she had seen the stuff of nightmares, felt the darkness, not the turn off your light before you go to bed darkness - The real, legit, cold sweat ear pulsing shit. There was much darkness in this house, some she could do without and others she craved.

The darkness that shared her taste in music, also stuck in the wrong decade, stubborn, sceptical and moderately nihilistic like her. The darkness that too hated pop culture, ate poetry like cheerio's and could quote Keats like the alphabet. The darkness she played board games and card games with for hours in silence stealing glances at each other and smiling when they catch each other, her stomach clenches when its black eyes devour her own his smile like a basket full of puppies, she wants to stab each one with a Stanley blade.

The darkness that used to crawl into her bed in the early hours of the morning snaked an arm around her waist, whispered a hundred different expressions of love in her ear. The darkness that then caressed her with hot roughly soft hands, pulled her shirt over her head, her panties down her legs and off onto the floor without a sound.

Merciless hands.

Guilty of incalculable amounts of pain and sorrow, hands that had felt the barrel of multiple weapons, a cylinder of gasoline, the cool metal of a fire poker. The same hands that always found her and held her whenever she ws upset, soothed her back, ran their fingers through her hair, lit her cigarette.

Hands that had touched her in places until she cried into her pillow, her thighs clenched and shaking, the tingle of a cold thumb ring resting against her throbbing mound as it pumps three fingers in and out, the same three fingers that were shoved down her throat once in a desperate attempt to rid her stomach of the thirty two pills she had swallowed, pills that were slowly poisoning your organs. Yes she had counted so had he. Every breath, heartbeat, every possible sign of life praying to a God he didn't believe in that she would open those beautiful god damn eyes.

The same darkness that told her she was beautiful when it had her on yher back naked and out of breath, her cheeks flushed lips plushed, swollen and bitten. Strips of hair stuck to the sweat cascading down the side of her face, down the valley of her spine, her chest and neck peppered with the tingling bruises left by his mouth.

The darkness that had muffled her 3 am moans of ecstasy with hot, wet, languorous kisses so as not to wake her parents, as its hot shaft moved into her filling her up with the flesh and fluid of nature's darkest most dangerous matter.

The weight of its broad chest squishing her small breasts and the hands she placed on his chest, heavy, warm, protective and safe, she's never felt more safe, more wanted, appreciated.

In this house Violet Harmon met the love of her life _literally_ and lost, sent him away in that same year. Her parents were too, taken by the darkness, the darkness she loved the most, loved more than the sharp edge of a cool blade against her skinny wrist.

The darkness that had hurt her the most, betrayed her, finished her off like one of the Westfield kids.

Violet's eyes drifted open dragging her from the depths of her subconscious to the sound of silence, the vision of darkness, a disappointing kind of darkness she didn't find it soothing like she used to. She sat up and flicked on her lamp to rid the room of it.

It was nothing personal.

The right side of her bed was empty and cold. She wanted it no other way, or so she told herself. Violet lay there awake for some amount of time contemplating whether she should do what she was about to do. She lit a cigarette cause that's what she did when she needed to think.

Getting out of the bed she padded across the creaking wood bare foot in shorts and her favourite Bobby Smith tee shirt before she laid her cigarette on her desk and pulled a large sweater on and slipped her bare feet into unlaced Converse, tucking the laces in not bothered to tie them. She retrieved her cigarette, grabbed the flashlight off the desk and proceeded out the door.

Creeping down the stairs Violet tried to be as quiet as possible, there were no other ghosts around and she was glad she wasn't in the mood for a _look what he did to me_ or _where's my baby _right now.

She opened the door to the basement and jogged down the stairs making her way through the blackness not bothering to use the flash light, she didn't need it. Ghosts could see in the dark but human habits die hard, that's why she smoked even though she couldn't feel it anymore.

She couldn't feel his presence anywhere, she even checked the crawl space, it wasn't her favourite place for obvious reasons, but she knew he sat in there sometimes, crying mostly, with only the company of her rotting corpse somewhere.

Maybe it made him feel close to her, how sick. He could cuddle it if he wanted for all she cared.

She did care, but she didn't want to.

She didn't want to feel anything she wouldn't let herself.

He needed to pay for what he did and until she could think of a way to make that happen she could let loneliness eat him up for a bit. Tough shit.

But she still wanted to see him. There was only one other place he'd be. Taking a quick drag of contemplation Violet exhaled, turned on her heels and made her way back up the basement stairs feeling a gaze staring at her out of the darkness.

"He's in the attic." it was Hayden.

"Yeah, I know." Violet said coldly before closing the door behind her.

She flitted through the hall like a good ghost appearing on the top floor of the house where her parent's room was. She made sure she was extra quiet. Pulling open the attic door she climbed up the ladder slowly. The attic was always so bright when there was a full moon.

They had spent a lot of time up here, too much time. Making out and playing chess, discussing Literature, feminism, Kurt Cobain, the futility of war.

Sure enough he was there sitting with his feet up on the large windowsill, his forehead pressed against the old glass. The moonlight bounced off his pale skin, his broad jaw, those soft blonde curls she used to love running her fingers through hanging loosely around his eyes. They were closed now but she knew he wasn't asleep. He knew she was there.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Hellooo here's part 2. It's longer than I intended so I apologise in advance, but I got carried away. Violet's so fun to write, I hope I did her justice.** **Thank you for the lovely reviews they put a smile on my face :)**

"Hey..." Violet said finally, shifting her stance awkwardly, she could feel herself starting to regret coming up here.

But she was Elvira ~ _mistress of the dark_ as Chad had so gaily pointed out, pun intended of course. If she hadn't been repulsed by the idea of him and his moody husband plotting to kidnap and smother her mom's babies she would have smiled and shrugged off his comment with warm indifference.

Tate was the cause of both men's deaths and their now eternal misery.

Not to forget he also raped her mother, who is also dead.

Again, another reason why she shouldn't be in this attic but fuck, it was too late now she thought.

"Hi" Tate finally said with only hesitation in his tone. Things felt wierd all of a sudden she didn't like it. It was never wierd between them ever.

Until shit happened, as they say.

Violet fixed her gaze onto the wall and let silence fell amongst them once more.

She supposed it would be selfish to expect him to greet her warmly. If she wanted him to go away in fairness she should probably stay away from him. He couldn't keep away from her if she kept searching for him and he was truly trying, she appreciated that.

She had gotten herself into an odd habit of looking for him sometimes. Most of the time it was really hard for her to find him. If a ghost wants to truly disappear they can. It was cruel though, telling him to go away, then calling him back only to tell him to go away again.

Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn't. Maybe she was the one holding onto what they had. Maybe he did want to move on for his own sanity's sake. He had a habit of forgetting things. It could be bullshit but she believed it was legit, he was truly terrified that night on Halloween. Maybe he would make himself forget her someday too.

Though the thought of him not loving her one day, the thought of him letting go, giving up made her a lot more naucious than it should of. She should want that but she didn't.

Once she even thought about making him her bitch for a couple of years, decades even. Eternity was a long time afterall and she had needs. Although the idea of having her own personal emotionally blackmailed prostitute didn't sit well in her stomach, sadism wasn't her cup of tea. Her memories and her two fingers would do fine for now to be blunt.

She still loved him. She knew she always would.

_If you love someone you should never hurt them, _she had agreed.

_I would never let anyone or anything hurt you._

Just because he broke his promises doesn't mean she had to...

Maybe she was a sociopath like him although he ticked more boxes than she did.

Superficial Charm, yes. Manipulative and conning, yes. Grandiose sense of self-righteousness, yes. Pathological lying. Yes. Often callous/ with lack of empathy, yes. Irresponsibility/unreliability, yes. Lack of Remorse, shame or guilt, no. Shallow Emotions, god no. Incapacity for Love, no. Erratic sexual behavior, ... what?. Juvenile Delinquency, no comment. But screw definitions, they're bullshit anyway Violet thought.

Tate was gonna be hard to decipher, but that didn't keep her away from her father's bookshelf. If she was gonna _help_ him she needed to know what she was dealing with, they didn't exactly have books on ghost psychology but she'd use her own initiative like she always did, no need to be like anyone else, this time though she would follow her heart or maybe stick to Google... She took a deep breath.

She walked over him with faux confidence her heart hammering against her chest.

They hadn't spoken since he'd tried to kill that new kid, he almost did until she stopped him. Violet wasn't into him or anything but he didn't deserve to die, not in this house she wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"I was hoping we could talk." she said simply.

His eyes were open now but he didn't look up he just sighed, stiffened slightly and wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes. He must have been crying.. again.

Fuck sake, you'd think it was his mother who got raped, even though she knew he wasn't the biggest fan of Constance, neither was she to be honest.

But maybe he was sorry, a million and one things were racing through Violet's mind, she hadn't shot fifteen high school kids and slaughtered a gay couple after all. That for sure was a reason to cry. She had a loving family downstairs who would always be there for her, she wasn't cursed with years of abuse and neglect from his dad and Constance.

Violet had no reason to be sad or mad, truthfully. Her family were together now, happy and thats all she wanted.

Yet she was sad, because there was still one thing missing from her life and she was everything missing from his life.

No he was sorry, she knew he was but how could she forgive him? What kind of person would that make her? Weak. Despicable. Foolish. It was bad enough that she forgave him for the Westfield massacre_, _but she did_, _back when she thought the term _lifes to short_ still applied to her. That was another thing he lied to her about. But she had lied to him about Addie, still was. She could deal with that though. That's why we lie to the ones we love right? To protect them?

She didn't know anymore...

But lying about the fact that he knew he was dead, Chad, Patrick, her own mother- it was too much, the wake up call she needed.

It's like there was always a luminous signpost above his head flashing danger in bold red, yet she had ignored it, had followed him around aimlessly for months like she was a moth and he was a light bulb or an angler fish - the latter probably suited him better. There wasn't much light in Tate, he had some but not enough. She knew she was what he needed and she wanted give him that, wanted to help him but it just hurt to look at him.

_Frailty thy name is Violet Harmon_. No thank you.

She hadn't realised her cigarette had burned out. She carelessly flicked the butt into a dark corner before wetting her lips. She tapped his foot twice with her hand.

He understood this to mean_ move your feet_ so he did, although he wished she wouldn't sit near him. Jesus, somewhere less close to him would be nice, no, less than nice, he didn't know what nice felt like anymore, bearable would do fine if he could even have that. Her bare thigh was so close to this, soft and pallid in the light, untouchable for him, every part of her that was the worst.

He couldn't bear it. He could smell her shampoo; he could hear her breathing softly beside him. He imagined his lips on hers drinking it in, the taste of her warm, sweet, smokey breathe. She always smelled like fabric softener and cigarettes. She just smelt like a girl, his girl - well she used to be.

He suddenly wondered if having your chest blown open by a dozen SWATS in your bedroom justified the ache in his chest cavity right now, if he could remember.

He'd take every bullet again if he could, he'd take being burned alive, beaten by his mother, suffocating in a barrel of water, a fire poker up his anus, shit- he'd take anything over _this_ feeling knowing that she'll never see him she same way ever again, never look at him with the greatfulness that she'd found someone just like her, her soulmate to be literal. He relished the idea of being _her person_, he had never been wanted in his life by anyone except Violet.

The two now sat facing each other their backs against opposite walls of the large rectangular window frame, keeing their legs out of each others space. Cause she usually sat in between his legs. He'd wrap his arms around her and she'd lay her cheek against his chest. They would sit for ages naming constellations and talking about random unimportant stuff, books they were reading, but things were different now.

Violet hugged her knees and placed her chin on top of them.

He still hadn't looked up. He was afraid to, afraid to move, scared she would utter those three words.

_Go away Tate._

Violet rolled her eyes but inside she was hurting. Naturally, it hurt to see him sad, obviously. But she couldn't afford to be weak. She had already slipped when that new family moved in.

It was so cliché she knew but she thought maybe hanging out with the new boy would make him jealous and to be honest she was bored. She wanted to get a rise out of Tate. She had no interest in the boy. He was one of those people who looked at modern society and saw something good. Enough said.

But she went too far. She had kissed him. Told him it was goodbye when she knew damn well it wasn't. She told herself it was to distract Tate while the new boy fled, but the truth was she wanted to kiss him. She had enjoyed it, wasn't going to deny it, be ashamed about that. She needed to remind herself what his lips felt like, remind herself it was worth not giving up on him. She pretended the look of distress on his face when she whispered "goodbye Tate" didn't make her insides crumble and her gut wrench like a mangled bicycle chain. If she ever saw the boy again she'd thank him but he'd probably give her the finger.

But that was enough procrastinating. It was time to get down to business.

"Tate" Violet spoke again more softly this time. "We need to talk about stuff."

Slowly he lifted his head up his eyes were agitated and red, so dark, bottomless, seductive. The moonlight illuminated those faded lined scars on his cheek she'd always been meaning to ask him about. He looked so old sometimes, so mature, the weight of the world evident on his delicate features.

He was so beautiful, so vulnerable she wanted to touch him, she was attracted to him. She couldn't decipher the look on his face but it wasn't happy anyway, he looked exhausted almost indifferent, lost.

"So what have you been up to?"

Silence.

"Right stupid question" she hadn't intended for it to sound as bitchy as it did. Shit, the last thing she wanted to do was make him cry. She couldn't stand the sound of it. Not because she was sexist and didn't think boys should cry, his sensitivity was actually something she found really attractive, he was honest - for the most part.

"You should see the lounge," she scoffed.

"Three words-"

Tate flinched…

"Santa's fucking grotto." she finished.

"I didn't know you liked Christmas. I could tell." he said, his voice no more than a murmur.

"I don't." she said almost defensively.

"Do you like Christmas Tate?"

"I used to."

Silence...

"Come on Tate..."

"Why are you here… Violet?" he was afraid to say her name like it was some forbidden curse word, he shifted his seated position.

"I told you I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to me or to watch me suffer? You're bored I get it."

"What? Tate what the- ..." she could feel herself getting angry. Was he pissed at her? Seriously? He had no right.

"I apologised to your Mom today."

"What did she say?" Violet was somewhat calmer now although the idea of her mom and Tate in the same room made her queasy.

"She didn't say anything."

"I don't blame her."

"I know, but it was the right thing to do right?"

He craved her approval like a child. Yes it was she thought, but she didn't like that cause it confirmed what she knew. There was good in him afterall.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to Tate."

She watched his reaction, dared him with her eyes, dared him to smile. He didn't.

"What would you have said?"

"I don't know. I would have appreciated your apology though, even if I didn't say anything."

Was she trying to indirectly imply something? Tate felt sick, maybe she was just fucking with him.

"_Always __forgive__ your enemies, nothing annoys them so much_." Violet quoted nonchalantly.

Tate couldn't help but lavish the way the words of Wilde fell out of her lips. Sometimes she'd read aloud whatever book she was reading cause he'd ask her to, the ginger sound of her voice used to send him straight to sleep, now it haunted him.

She was definitely fucking with him. Was it sick that he didn't care? Any interaction at all with her was better than nothing, didn't she realise that? He was willing to suffer to hear her voice, feel her presence.

Or maybe she did and that's why she gave it to him then took it away.

He wished she would go away to be honest; let him fade away into the darkness in peace, alone.

"Do you see me as an enemy?" he asked curious.

"No." she was now peeling off little chunks of cracked paint off the window frame.

There was silence between the two teenagers for a while until Violet heard a familiar clinking of chains and heavy footing.

"Play!" Beau clambered into view, the light emphasising his deformed face. Violet leaned over to pick up the red ball that rolled over towards her and proceeded to play catch with the poor kid.

"He's really sweet, it's sad. I wonder what his story is I don't think he can speak English" Violet said softly.

"He's my brother" Tate said suddenly clearing his throat.

"Really?" Violet hadn't known that, she was shocked.

"I guess you know what my next question is then..."

"My mother's boyfriend smothered him."

Violet was speechless she suddenly felt bed for Tate, She wanted to tell him she was sorry but they both knew sorry meant fuck all, Tate of all people knew that. God knows he said it enough times, always sorry always having to say it again having done more worng. It annoyed the shit out of her.

She figured he didn't know the difference between right and wrong. Believed doing bad things didn't matter as long as you had the intention to do something good, like the concept of war for peace, kind of irrational.

"That's sick, and they just kept him chained up here, like an animal in a third world circus?"

"By the time I was old enough to realise it was too late. She had already destroyed him. She had kept him so isolated from the world. I tried to let him out once I was seven I think, but he got scared and ran back up here when he saw a moving car. Constance got angry - lets just say I never tried it again."

"Is that suposed to make me feel sorry for you?"

"No Violet."

"I'm sorry anyway Tate."

"Thanks."

"Did they catch him, your moms boyfriend?" Violet asked curious, as she continued to pick at the paint with her red polished nails. Tate sighed.

"That creep who was banging on your door on Halloween looking for money, his face was all burn scars and scary right?"

"Yeah"

"That's him, he killed Beau."

"Did you do that to his face?"

"I called him out at Thanksgiving dinner he denied it right to my face. How sick is that?"

But Tate's voice had no emotion it had been monotonous throughout their conversation.

"Do you know what his wife did when she found out he was cheating on her with my mother? She set this house on fire with her and her two daughters inside. Their ghosts hang around in the basement, two little girls I don't know if you've seen them, they're not exactly hard to distinguish."

"Not yet." Violet almost whispered, there was a lump in the back of her throat. She hated what happened to those girls what happened to Beau…

"So I set him on fire… figured it was a suitable punishment don't you think?" but there was no twisted spark in his voice, just sadness.

"I probably would have set him on fire to..."

"No you wouldn't." he smiled suddenly.

She smiled defeated.

"Your right I would have stopped you. How come you never told me about this?"

"Didn't wanna give you another reason to hate me."

"I don't hate you Tate. I think what you did to your mom's boyfriend was kinda justified actually."

"Really?" she nodded. Tate smiled again slightly because it was nice to know she didn't hate him and also because she was so macabre sometimes, dark and twisted like him. A match made in hell. He loved her too much right now.

"I wish I met you in 1994 Tate. So I could have stopped you from shooting those kids."

"If I had you in my life back then Violet I probably wouldn't have done lots of shit I did."

"probably?"

"you know me." he smirked, she did know him.

"If I had of been in that Library Tate, would you have shot me too?"

"Would we have been involved at the time?"

"Would it matter?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have hurt someone I loved... Especially not someone as smart and beautiful as you." he added.

"But you did."

"I know, believe me it doens't feel nice knowing I did."

"My mom told me about the Nora stuff. She didn't even want the baby when she got it, it wasn't even your baby she got. She couldn't shove him into my mom's arms fast enough. What a bitch. Bet you feel like an even bigger shithead now, that you raped my mom in vain."

Tate's brow furrowed.

"I didn't enjoy it you know."

"That's good to know I guess. I seen your kid, with Constance the other day, he's cute."

Tate couldn't believe what he was hearing right now. There was laced venom in her voice, he could sense it.

"Just kidding." she said. "I'm glad it's as far away from here as possible, for it's own sake, not only mine. Imagine your brother being your boyfriend's kid. You don't even see shit like that on Maury. You know she wanted to keep both of them."

"What? why?"

"Cause she's an amazing person, She's a good mom Tate."

"I know. Your lucky like that, I think I told you that before."

"You did, and I know. You know you once told me not to get stuck in high school that it was only a blip in my timeline. You told me when you looked into the ocean you could see a life for yourself away from here, away from Constance."

"I remember."

"I know you had it shit Tate but you could have gotten away from the horror before it consumed you like it did. Started over fresh."

"I couldn't leave Addie Violet."

"You could have taken her with you."

"I wouldn't have been able to look after her properly. I'm not good like that Violet."

"You loved her right?"

"Of course."

"Thats all that would have mattered. Your just a coward, that's one of your biggest problems I think."

"Are you my shrink now?"

"No. but I listened to your session tapes, read your file and shit."

"Find anything good?"

"Most of it was bullshit, I think you know that - but my dad fell for it cause he can be thick like that, he's a terrible shrink. Dunno if you realised that."

"He told me therapy was bullshit this afternoon, that there was no hope for me, that I couldn't change."

"Well your not exactly in his good books at the moment Tate."

"Yeah I guess."

"Do you believe that Tate?"

"Believe what?"

"That your irredeemable. Fucked over for life."

"No... I don't know. I want to change Violet. I want to be a good person. I know I can." he pleaded.

"Good."

"Good what?"

"That's good, cause I think you can change too, but it's gonna take time."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"I never said I would."

"But-" she continued,

"I will, if you want. But no bullshit cause I won't put up with that Tate. I know how that brain of yours works and I wont be manipulated so don't even try that shit. I may be a dumb bitch for falling in love with you but i'm not a naive little girl. You don't deserve me Tate, you don't deserve shit off anyone but its not like I have anything else to do with my time so if the one thing I can do in my existence is help you be a better person, I'll do it. and I guess I'm stuck with you forever. It's unfortunate that I'd rather talk to you about stuff than my parents for eternity. You get me Tate, oddly enough. Besides, I'll bet forever is a long time."

"You have no idea Violet."

Silence enveloped the attic once more. Beau has fallen asleep in the corner. Violet stared at Tate's face as he gazed out the window into the backyard.

"Purr like a kitten?" Violet finally said. Tate grimaced feeling sheepish.

"Yeah sorry about that I couldn't help it, you should have seen his face Vi, it was priceless."

"Bet he turned green and started to increase in body mass."

"He almost did. I though he was gonna hit me."

"He's a shithead."

"He's a good dad, Violet."

"He's weak minded though, I'm not. He gave up on you but I'm not going to."

Tate sighed shaking his head.

"What?" Violet asked.

"Your an amazing person Violet. _Your selfless, kind_."

"Too fucking kind." she muttered.

"It's a good quality to have."

"Is it? Makes me sound like a door mat don't you think?"

"No I don't. It doesn't. I wouldn't never treat you like that Violet and would kill anyone who did."

"See Tate, thats a problem right there you have to stop thinking about killing people. It makes you sound creepy and possessive and it's not attractive."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be, thought crime isn't a punishable offence."

"Every action begins with a thought, a feeling though." Tate sighed.

"I guess thats what this house house does to you, look what happened to me." she replied.

"I tried to save you Violet I really did."

"I believe you, and thats why I know theres hope for you yet."

Violet stood up suddenly her ass was beginning to go numb.

"What happened to your knees?"Tate asked noticing the dirt on them.

"I was in the crawl space."

"Why would you go in there?"

"Well I was looking for you, you spastic." Violet sneered rubbing the dust off her knees.

"I'm sorry I left your body in there."

"Don't be I would want to dump it ASAP too."

"I just... Your parents were on their way home, and I was gonna bury you Violet, I wanted to but I figured an unmarked grave wouldn't go unnoticed in the back yard. I panicked. It got harder the longer I left it. I couldn't look at it Violet it just reminded me how I failed you." she could hear the grief in his voice.

"Tate, my death was my own fault, my responsibility, besides you have enough on your conscience."

Violet suddenly felt the urge for a cigarette. She hadn't anticipated spending this long up here with him.

"I guess I'll talk to you later.."

"I'll pull the ladder up don't worry."

"Alright, thanks."

She descended out of the attic, leaving him sitting where she found him. When she got back to her room she lit another cigarette and strolled the length of her floor looking at herself in the mirror. When she was done smoking she slipped out of her shoes and climbed back into bed turning off the light. Her head hadn't even been on the pillow before she was out of bed again and heading back to the attic.

"Tate?" she popped her head up through the door.

He had changed position slightly and was now sitting upright with his elbows on his knees his face in his hands. He looked up at her.

"What is it Violet?" he asked softly.

"Come downstairs" she gestured with her head.

He contemplated for a minute before standing up and walking over to her unsure of where she was going with this. Maybe she was going to wait until his back was turned so she could stab him as he came down the ladder. If it would make her happy he'd oblige without hesitation.

Tate closed Violet's bedrrom door behind him

"I thought you didn't like me being in your room anymore?"

He watched her walk over to her closet. She opened it pulling out a duvet and a pillow before placing them on the ground.

"This was your room before it was mine Tate, I havn't forgotten that. This is your home too and we have to share it."

"Violet you don't have to-"

"But this," she cut him off and plopped on top of her bed, "this is my bed, so sorry..." she gave him a dazzling smile he could't help but smile.

He made himself comfortable on her wooly throw rug and pulled the duvet over him. Violet got into her own bed and turned off the light. She turned a couple of times until she found a position she liked, but that wasn't what was keeping her awake. She was feeling selfish again. She had that need, that habit of having him close to her. All five foot eleven of his murdering, raping, psychotic stature. Was she really about to do this? Yes. Was she sick? Yes. Was she deprived? Yes. Did she care? No.

"Tate?"

"yeah?"

"Come to bed."

He was dumbfounded, silent. If she was playing games with him she was really going for below the belt. Was she that twisted?

"Tate get into the bed" she hissed with impatience. He obeyed standing up and walking towards it like he was aproaching a minefield. He slipped out of his Converse and lifted up her duvet slowly. His heart was going ninety miles an hour as he knelt onto the matress. She too felt her own heart about to explode as she felt the matress dip with his weight.

Violet was so glad it was dark right now so she couldn't see him. She was this close to falling over the edge. She had just told her ex-boyfriend who killed lots of people and raped her mom to get into her bed. If this wasn't twisted and deranged she no longer knew the meaning of those words.

She had her back to him but she could hear his breathing as he brought his head down to the pillow across from hers. He could hear hers too and how shakey it was. Was she scared?

"Violet I can get out if you want. I was fine on the floor and I was fine in the attic.."

"Just keep your hands to yourself and stay on your your side, no funny business."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"yeah right." she scoffed.

"You said thought crime wasn't a bad thing..." she could feel him smiling beside her.

"shut up Tate" Violet buried her face in her pillow.

"You didn't really plan this out did you?"

"shut up." she snapped.

"Your a good friend Violet."

"We're not friends Tate. That's gonna take some time."

"I didn't know non-friends slept in the same bed"

"They do in this house."

"I'll wait forever for you Violet."

"I know."

Tate decided to shut up before she kicked him out of the bed. Being back in her bed was amazing. He didn't know how they'd gone from _Good bye_ _Tate_ to _get into my bed_ Tate but he wasn't gonna complain. Sleeping in her bed was enough for him, tlaking to her in the attic like they just had now. The chances of her ever letting him touch her again were less than slim, but beggars can't be choosers and he'd take any bone she threw him.

He breathed in her scent off the pillow closing his eyes feeling at peace for the first time in weeks since she'd told him to go away. He could dream about her for now.

Violet listened to Tate's heavy sighs she knew he was close to sleep. At least having him near meant she could keep an eye on him. Tomorrow was another day to undo the wrong but right now all she wanted to do was sleep.

Tonight there would be no _go away_ no _good bye_. Tonight there would be no heartache, but compromise. She settled for something in between.

"Good night Tate" she said.

"Good night Violet, sweet dreams."

**A/N Ok so this is the end of this story I think. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm sure alike many of you guys I was a bit pissed at the way the finale went. I wasn't looking for Violet to forgive Tate or their epic _reunion_, cause I respect her as a character too much and for her to take him back would be wrong on so many levels. **

**I feel Murphy was so hell bent on turning Tate into a one dimensional villain and it makes me angry cause that wasn't the way he was portrayed as far as the end of Piggy Piggy. I couldn't take the scene where Tate was creeping like Edward Cullen at the end of Gabe's bed seriously, and then proceeded to try and kill the poor boy for Violet who had known him for like a day. Literally WTF were the writers thinking. Cringe :L. The worst thing they did was put Tate in that rubber suit :/ **

**I was going to have Violet ask Tate why he shot those kids and I was trying to work out in my head how I would write that but then I realised I didn't know. How do you justify something like that? I feel angry that the show didn't explore Tate's character more he kinda got tossed to the curb I feel. Yeah clearly I'm butthurt over Tate's character. I'm gonna shut up now. :D**

**Merry Christmas! :)**


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